


Ode To Michael

by KingCroweOfCamelot



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Car Accidents, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 13:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10618140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingCroweOfCamelot/pseuds/KingCroweOfCamelot
Summary: Michael always drove fast. Today was no exception. But in a split second - Michael couldn't turn the wheel fast enough.





	

Sometimes people have to go, either in a blaze of glory or a messy car crash.

There's nothing you can do about it.

There was nothing Trevor could do about it.

 

Driving back from the dusty roads of sweaty Sandy Shores, a hundred miles an hour. Sun beat down on the roof of the black car, turning it into a portable Sedan oven, able to bake the most plastic of Vinewood ex-jocks.

They had argued the night before, drinking heavily, messing about, adding more regrets to the ever burning bonfire that lay between them. They never relented, never stopped, never paused for breath. Never stopped. It used to be full energy between them. They used to have passion and charisma and drugs and hookers, but not anymore. Trevor wanted it to be like the old days. Michael wanted it to be clean and comfortable. The old days were not clean or comfortable.

"You're pathetic. Lazy, fat, pathetic, old-"

"E-fuckin'-nough! Stop!"

"You can't handle the truth, Mikey! You're nothing like you used to be! You're a sad goddamn shell of my old best friend!"

"I AIN'T YOUR FRIEND, T!"

It had been an awful night in the trailer. Too many drugs, to much alcohol, to many bad memories, to much heat. Trevor's blood was high. He was angry and mostly upset. He lost Michael, he found Michael, but be still missed Michael. He wasn't the same.

The man infront of him had longer hair, swept into place. He had worse posture, shoulders arched forward when he walked. He had more lines on his face, more grey in his stubble, more weight around his waist. 

But the appearance wouldn't matter. Trevor didn't care for appearances. But the physical changes represented the internal ones. Michael was slower, heavier, duller. It was frankly depressing. 

Trevor reached out for him anyway, grabbing him by the broad shoulders, pulling him closer, yelling incoherently in his face. Michael resisted. He struggled. He writhed. He was no match for Trevor’s drug induced super-strength. 

"I LOVE YOU, YOU TURD!"

 

Michael woke in the morning, laced with confusion, burdened with regret, pelted with a hangover and a heavy head. He used the kitchen counter to pull himself off the floor and left, getting in his car. It was midday - you had to be a fool or desperate to be active at the hottest part of the day here. 

He was only at the freeway when he got a call. Trevor. 

The man's voice belted out over the car speakers. "WHY DID YOU LEAVE?!"

"Tr-What? Man, you weren't even in the trailer!"

"EVERYONE LEAVES ME!"

"Trevor! Stop! I'm gonna hang up, T, I've got a fuckin' hangover, I need to concentrate. I'm on the freeway."

"FUCK YOU!"

"Alright, bye. Text me la- " His finger hovered over the button to end the call. It was a good thing he never got the chance.

Michael always drove fast. Today was no exception. But in a split second - Michael couldn't turn the wheel fast enough.

Trucks always travelled along this stretch of road. This driver was not sober, carrying a cargo of definitely illegal substances. The truck got out of control, the driver span the wheel, the truck turned over, lying across several lanes.

"FUCK! T!" 

There wasn't enough time. The black Sedan ploughed into the overturned truck. The bonnet crumpled, the front window smashed, Michael's feet became trapped. It happened so soon. His body was thrown forward, the splintering glass in his face, the wheel breaking his ribs. His strangled cry was horrendous. 

"Mike? MICHAEL?!" Trevor roared down the phone. "MIKE? SHIT!"

There was no answer.

"MICHAEL! DON'T YOU FUCKIN' DIE ON ME TOWNLEY!"

".... T...."

"Mike, where are you? MIKE!"

The engine was smoking and the smell of gas flooded the air. It was hard to breathe. 

"Hang in there Mikey, T's comin' to get ya."


End file.
